


Angel's Grace

by orphan_account



Series: Demon's Surrender [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Aziraphale loves Crowley, Crowley loves Aziraphale, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Kneeling, Light Bondage, M/M, Master/Servant, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Sub Crowley, Tender Sex, Tenderness, Top Aziraphale, Wings, bottom Crowley, dom aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Shirt off,” said Aziraphale.Crowley took a deep breath. Aziraphale had led him upstairs directly after breakfast, after their agreement last night to spend the day playing, and now he stood before Crowley utterly composed, hands clasped in front of him, eyeing Crowley and waiting.There was no way of knowing what the next dozen hours would entail. But Aziraphale was to be obeyed without question in this place.Aziraphale has Crowley completely at his mercy, and he’s going to make the demon feel better than he has in his millenia-long life.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Demon's Surrender [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868122
Comments: 7
Kudos: 165





	Angel's Grace

“Shirt off,” said Aziraphale, his voice soft and calm. 

Crowley took a deep breath. He was already trembling; once again, Aziraphale hadn’t given him any indication of what was about to happen to him. He’d simply led Crowley upstairs directly after breakfast, after their agreement last night to spend the day playing, and now he stood before Crowley utterly composed, hands clasped in front of him, eyeing Crowley and waiting for his command to be obeyed. 

There was no way of knowing what the next dozen hours would entail. But Aziraphale was to be obeyed without question in this place. Crowley pulled off his black shirt with quick, jerky motions, dropping it hastily to the floor.

Aziraphale’s gaze traveled over Crowley’s bare chest, letting a little of his desire show, his own eagerness. Crowley’s hands twisted together behind his back.

“Now your trousers,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley pulled them off even more hastily than he’d done with his shirt. This was followed by a command to remove his pants, and then Crowley was completely naked, chest rising and falling softly as Aziraphale stared at his defenseless form. He kept still as Aziraphale circled him, even when Aziraphale’s hands traced over his shoulder blades, even when his finger stroked down the center of his back, almost reaching his arse before lifting again; Aziraphale was allowed to do anything and everything to Crowley’s body, and Crowley, whether restrained or not, couldn’t resist. 

When Aziraphale appeared in front of him again, he’d removed his bowtie - the rest of him still entirely clothed - and held it tight in one hand. 

“Hold out your hands, wrists together,” he said.

Crowley held out his hands. Aziraphale wound his bowtie around his wrists, tying them firmly. 

“Now,” he said, “on your knees.” 

The first sparks of arousal began catching in Crowley’s skin, as he processed the order, as he bowed his head and hastened to comply. But when he was kneeling, his bound hands in front of him and his gaze set on Aziraphale’s shoes, the arousal was met and matched by calm. He found himself settling into his submission as Aziraphale began to circle him once more. 

Aziraphale crouched behind him and, in the next second, a heavy piece of soft cloth was being wrapped around his eyes. As his vision vanished Crowley sighed deeply. Aziraphale caressed his cheek for a moment, a little signal of affection, and then, as if unable to help himself, leaned in and kissed Crowley’s neck softly. 

“I love you,” he whispered, the words tangible against Crowley’s skin.

Crowley let out a serene breath. “I love you.”

Aziraphale gently squeezed his shoulder before drawing away again, moving in front of Crowley once more.

“Now bow to me,” he said. “With your face to the floor.” 

Crowley practically collapsed forward, extending his bound hands, curling his spine down until his forehead rested against the carpet. A posture not just of supplication but of worship. Aziraphale was his god, his sun, his center; Aziraphale’s love was the only thing he submitted to. The only thing he rejoiced in submitting to. He sighed again, a sigh that was almost a groan, as he prostrated himself. 

“I am your master.” The words were precise, careful; giving Crowley a chance to object, to break the game, if he wanted to. 

Crowley didn’t. Arousal and calm swirled more strongly through him and he repeated the words back. “You’re my master.” 

“When I come into the room, that’s how you’ll greet me; you’ll say ‘Master,’ and you’ll bow, as you’re doing now.” Aziraphale sounded as though he were casting a spell, or else performing some sacred rite. “Do you understand?”

The answer came without effort. “Yes, master.” 

“Then,” said Aziraphale, “wait here for me. I’m going to make you forget your own name.” 

“Yes,” Crowley breathed. 

And Aziraphale’s footsteps retreated. The door opened, then shut again, and Crowley was left alone. 

The pressure of the carpet was firm and soothing on his forehead. Aziraphale’s bowtie was a soft, faded material; though it kept him restrained, it didn’t cut into his skin, didn’t hurt. Nothing here hurt. The air was warm on his bare skin, and his breaths were even and deep, and his position was comfortable, a curled-in-on-himself posture that worked with the blindfold to block out the world outside. 

He waited for Aziraphale to return. He thought of Aziraphale, upright and dignified and dominant before his prostration, clothed before his nakedness, and he did think the word _master_. What would Aziraphale do with him? How would he make him forget his own name? 

It was a long time, a time that stretched out warm and honey-sweet, before the door opened again. 

Aziraphale’s moves were still slow as he entered the room, careful enough that Crowley could hear every footstep. Enough almost that Crowley could feel their vibrations through the floor. He hung back, though, until Crowley remembered his orders.

“Master,” he said, voice low and reverent. 

Aziraphale crossed behind him, slowly but surely. “It’s time for you to serve me.”

Crowley’s breath sped up. Aziraphale was silent; for a moment he didn’t know what he was doing, until his hands pressed suddenly and forcefully down on his back. He gasped, almost convulsing; the touch shouldn’t have been so intimate, but Aziraphale’s hands curled into his skin, and they pierced into the ethereal plane, and suddenly Crowley’s wings were being _dragged_ into existence, bursting from his back and clamped at their bases by Aziraphale’s soft hands.

The sheer abasement of Aziraphale taking him in this way, controlling the very manifestation of his body, surged Crowley into full hardness despite his curled-over posture. He moaned as Aziraphale bent over him, face against his neck, gripping his wings almost - not quite, never quite - hard enough to hurt. He whined as Aziraphale pinned him down so he was trapped beneath his angel’s body.

And then Aziraphale’s lips found his neck again, and he kissed Crowley slowly, gently, adoringly. Crowley shuddered. 

“Do you know how to serve me?” Aziraphale whispered, before kissing him again.

“How?”

“By feeling me inside you.” Aziraphale pressed his forehead to Crowley’s neck where he’d been kissing him. “By taking me.”

Crowley expected Aziraphale’s hands to let go, then, expected Aziraphale to begin fingering him open, but Aziraphale’s fingers didn’t move from their position curled around his wings. Instead, Crowley felt his body shifting unaided, a miracle slicking and opening him. And Aziraphale’s cock was at his entrance, its way already prepared - _oh_ \- and it thrust inside him in an instant.

Crowley did convulse now. His back arched, propelling his wings farther into Aziraphale’s hands - but Aziraphale draped himself fully over his back, holding him, pinning him down, as he pulled out again slowly. Crowley groaned and gasped and tried to writhe as Aziraphale _thrust_ , gentle but deep, so deep, and then on the third thrust found his prostate. He tried to throw his head back as Aziraphale hit the spot perfectly, sending pleasure bursting through him, blazing up his spine and into his veins. But Aziraphale held his head down and kept him immobile. 

“Master,” Crowley cried. “Yes, master, please!”

“Just take it,” Aziraphale husked. “Take it, take me inside you, take my cock and my pleasure - take it, my love, _take_ it -”

Crowley was already dripping precome onto the carpet as Aziraphale’s thrusts increased their pace. His grip on Crowley’s wings felt impossibly intimate; the more pleasure invaded his spine, the more sensitive they felt, and the more Aziraphale’s hands felt like they were claiming him. The more it felt Aziraphale was clutching Crowley’s bloody, beating heart in those expert fingers. 

Willingly given. Crowley wanted Aziraphale to have it. Aziraphale held it tight and close, cherishing it with every ounce of his angelic soul. 

“Take my come, now,” Aziraphale groaned, and with a final stuttered thrust he spilled deep and warm inside Crowley’s body. 

It felt somehow _more_ than it ever had before; the warmth that shot into him didn’t stop with Aziraphale’s come, but spread further through him, filling him up with something large and bright, sunlight beneath his skin. He sobbed out his own orgasm only a few seconds after Aziraphale’s. 

There was calm for a moment. Aziraphale’s breaths softened, and Crowley went still, no longer attempting to writhe in his bliss. Aziraphale released Crowley’s wings and stroked at his shoulders again, kissing his neck and his upper back once, twice, three times before at last sitting back. 

“Good,” Aziraphale said, his voice even and steady. “Now stay there, my love. Stay bowed down with my come inside you, and wait to serve me again.”

Crowley couldn’t feel aroused so soon after Aziraphale fucking him, but the light still glowed inside him, and the words - the reminder of his submission, of his purpose only and forever to serve his master - filled him with a quiet, flowering peace. 

Aziraphale’s footsteps retreated. Crowley’s forehead stayed pressed to the floor. 

Time passed. Crowley wasn’t sure how much; the blindfold obscured his vision so perfectly he couldn’t even sense the changes in light. Of course, he could use a demonic miracle to ascertain the time, but he liked the uncertainty; it took him further out of reality, further into the warmth within him and the calm around him. He trusted Aziraphale’s timing. 

He felt his body grow eager again before Aziraphale reappeared. He was ready when the door creaked open, his cock already stirring.

“Master,” he said, remembering immediately this time.

Aziraphale didn’t speak. His steps were quick when he crossed behind Crowley; his hands were firm and sure when he gripped the backs of Crowley’s wings and pulled their bodies flush. His cock was already free, already pressed against the curve of Crowley’s arse and ready to claim his body once more.

“You’re still open for me,” Aziraphale murmured. “I don’t even have to prepare you.”

And with that he buried himself to the hilt, making Crowley buck and shout again, against his will; the fucking this time was harder, faster, stimulating Crowley in a new way as the pleasure of each thrust against his prostate built up against the last one. But still Aziraphale held him completely still. He couldn’t change the angle, couldn’t press back into Aziraphale’s touch, couldn’t do anything except unresistingly take Aziraphale’s pleasure and his love.

Aziraphale’s tongue laved over Crowley’s neck, and then he sucked hungrily at it a moment later; Crowley felt himself crashing toward orgasm at the double stimulation. He came with a wet gasp and his body went boneless again, wrung-out and ready for collapse.

But Aziraphale hadn’t come. He slowed the pace of his thrusts slightly, but they turned even harder than before, deeper. And after a moment Crowley realized his cock was stiffening again for a second round.

“You remember your word?” Aziraphale breathed in Crowley’s ear.

Crowley whined as Aziraphale slammed up against his sensitive prostate again. “Yes - yes, I remember it -”

But he didn’t want to use it. Despite how overwhelming this touch was, despite how his cock felt tight and overworked even as it rose into greater and greater arousal, he was a million light-years from wanting it to stop. Aziraphale, when he didn’t hear the word, kept thrusting at his easier pace, kissing Crowley again and again in time with it. Crowley squirmed and moaned but didn’t fight. 

“You belong to me.” Aziraphale jerked his hips hard. “You’re mine, mine to care for, mine to please - _mine_ -”

“Yours!” Crowley gasped. “Yours, _yes_ , master!”

When he came for the second time, Aziraphale came with him, filling him impossibly full - so full he hadn’t known he could take so much. This time he did collapse, Aziraphale releasing his wings and sitting back again, Crowley gasping himself into quietness. There were tears in his eyes, his cheeks were damp. He felt beautifully exhausted.

“Now stay there,” Aziraphale said softly, a command almost unnecessary. Crowley heard his footsteps retreat, and then he heard nothing. He was aware of nothing beyond his own beating heart and his own bone-deep tranquility.

Aziraphale waited longer before coming in a third time. Crowley nearly forgot the word _master_ ; he didn’t say it until Aziraphale had been standing over him a full minute, waiting, and Crowley had realized why it was Aziraphale hadn’t started the scene yet. When he did say it, Aziraphale went behind and re-opened his hole, then fucked him impossibly gently, whispering sweet nothings into Crowley’s ear, telling him he was loved, he was safe, he was so good. After the intensity of last time it made Crowley feel like he was floating in the air. When Aziraphale left he could barely feel the ground beneath him. 

How long was it after that? The world had been soft, dark, and muted since the blindfold had been wound around his eyes, but now it was hazy and indistinct in a new way. Crowley’s mind was entirely empty, and he felt so light he thought he must be drifting through it weightless. Nothing mattered anymore except the pleasure of his submission, and Aziraphale’s pleasure. Nothing mattered except letting Aziraphale take care of him.

The floorboards creaked.

“Master,” Crowley croaked without thinking. 

Aziraphale didn’t move behind him. Instead, after a silence, Crowley felt hands on his shoulders, guiding him upright; he went willingly, responding to the slightest force from Aziraphale’s gentle hands. When he’d sat up, still bound and blindfolded, he smelled something new in the air.

“Open your mouth,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley did, and then a spoonful of rich, creamy soup passed his lips; the taste of it enlivened his tongue, and he realized, with some surprise, that he was famished. He swallowed quickly. 

“That’s it.” Aziraphale fed him slowly, spoonful by spoonful; the soup had chunks of meat and vegetables, but Crowley wasn’t aware enough to distinguish any of them. He didn’t doubt Aziraphale would ask him what he thought of it later - Aziraphale was experimenting with all sorts of new recipes, these days, and his chief object was usually Crowley - but if he’d really wanted a considered opinion, he shouldn’t have fed it to Crowley when he was drunk on submission. 

It was delicious, anyway. Nothing had ever tasted so delicious. Of that Crowley was entirely certain.

Aziraphale fed Crowley a final spoonful and touched his chin to guide his mouth closed again. Then he cradled Crowley’s cheek for a moment, running his other hand through Crowley’s hair and touching his lips to Crowley’s forehead.

“My beloved,” he said. “You’re so _beautiful_ like this.” 

Crowley didn’t answer. He didn’t have to answer.

Aziraphale left again. 

His commands to be still, to stay bowed down, to greet Aziraphale with _master_ whenever he entered the room, faded into instinct as the hours wore on. The next time Aziraphale came in, he made Crowley orgasm three times before he came himself - and Crowley had no energy to cry or wail, he only shuddered through the orgasms one after another until Aziraphale was finished with him. The time after that, Aziraphale rubbed at his shoulders and his back, massaging them tenderly before taking hold of his wings again. The following time Aziraphale ran his fingers all through Crowley’s wings before even touching the rest of him; stroking every feather until Crowley felt there wasn’t an inch of them that hadn’t been seen. Aziraphale fucked him and fucked him and _fucked_ him, slow and fast, rough and sweet, until Crowley was so emptied of himself and so full of Aziraphale he felt there was no barrier between them at all.

“Who are you?” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, after he’d finished coming inside Crowley for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Yours,” Crowley responded, without pause. Nothing had ever felt truer in his mouth. 

“What are you?” 

_“Yours.”_

“And why are you here?”

“To serve you.” He was made of sunlight, he was made of joy, his existence was clear and warm and perfect in every way. “Always to serve you, master.” 

Aziraphale stroked a hand down his back. “And you do it so, so well.” 

The next time Aziraphale came to take him, Crowley didn’t move at all. He murmured _master_ as he always did, and Aziraphale, not needing to prepare him, entered him easily, indulgently, taking his time - but Crowley didn’t react. All his muscles were loose; they didn’t respond to the penetration at all, not even when pleasure rippled up exuberantly through his skin. He was too relaxed to writhe or squirm or pant. He didn’t make a sound either. Aziraphale had his way with him and he did nothing, nothing, nothing at all. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You’re finished resisting.”

He’d never really been resisting; he’d wanted to submit just as much as Aziraphale wanted it. His body’s movements had all been instinctual. But that had all been fucked out of him now. His instincts were gone, when his world was controlled so completely by Aziraphale. All he needed was right here, without his having to do a thing; love flowed so freely through and around him, his love and Aziraphale’s bound up in one. Why should he move? 

His orgasm was weak; he had practically nothing left in him. Aziraphale’s was stronger, but it still didn’t trigger any reaction in Crowley. He stayed prostrate when Aziraphale pulled back and waited patiently, to see if Aziraphale would leave, or touch him, or kiss him, or fuck him again.

Instead Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Crowley heard him exhale.

“Well,” he said, “I think that’s enough.”

And then he was being guided upright again. Hands were at his face; the blindfold was removed, and Crowley found himself blinking in the dimness of their bedroom, the sky dark outside their window, Aziraphale in front of him smiling a radiant smile. 

“Oh, my dearest love,” he said, “you did _wonderfully._ ”

Crowley’s wrists were untied, and Aziraphale kissed the slight red marks they left behind; then he opened his arms fully, letting Crowley lurch forward and fold himself into them. He let Crowley tuck his wings away before taking him into a tight embrace.

“Has it been the whole day?” Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s shirt.

“It has.” 

“You kept me like that…” Crowley sighed in wonder. “You kept me like that, kneeling and bowed down, for a whole _day._ ” 

“I’m impressed you were able to keep it up so long,” Aziraphale said, stroking Crowley’s hair. “I thought I’d come in at some point and find you asleep, or at least find you’d changed your position. But all those hours I was gone, you stayed completely still, didn’t you?”

Crowley tilted his head up to look at Aziraphale. It was a relief to be able to meet his eyes again. He smiled, showing Aziraphale his contentment in every line of his face. “For you, angel.” 

“My darling.” Aziraphale kissed him gently. “I love you so, so much.” 

After they’d stayed in each other’s arms for a while, Aziraphale at last made to stand; he helped Crowley to his feet as well, though his legs shook from a full day of kneeling. They would bathe together now. Crowley had already said that was the aftercare he’d want when they were finished. 

“Did you like it?” Aziraphale asked. “Was there anything we should change?”

Crowley shook his head. “It was perfect. What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve never _seen_ you so open and vulnerable, dear. It was absolutely exquisite.” 

“Well, then.” Crowley snaked his arms around Aziraphale’s middle, grinning a sleepy, sated grin. “I guess we’re in agreement - not that it really matters what I think, _master._ ” 

Aziraphale chuckled. Despite the name, despite Aziraphale’s total control of him during their sessions, Crowley knew Aziraphale would never do anything to him he didn’t want. Aziraphale had proven himself utterly, irreproachably trustworthy in that department. Crowley offered himself up freely to his angel because he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what Crowley thought and felt and wanted meant _everything_ to Aziraphale. 

“We’ll do it again sometime,” said Aziraphale. “Not in the near future, I think, but certainly again.”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale and kissed his cheek. “I’m ready when you are.”


End file.
